Chapter 22

TUESDAY, JUNE 4, 1991

I saw her for the first time on a rainy Tuesday morning. I had never seen anything like her before.

But I’m getting way ahead of myself. Let’s skip back to earlier in the morning.

Dad had ordered a few items for the Mustang. In particular, a few interior items he wanted fixed. He bought a headliner, new carpet and new vinyl for the both front seats. With installation, this was going to put him back nearly $400.

But where to get the work done? Dad had called a brand new shop in the town south of us that specialized in upholstery. They refurbished cars and couches and printed T-shirts as well.

I was excited to get the car out of the garage, as I seldom got to do. Problem was, it was rainy. I didn’t really want to take her out in the rain. I know, I babied the car too much. She wasn’t a trophy. She was to be driven and enjoyed.

On that morning, enjoy I did. Dad gave me directions to the place and had me go on ahead of him. He’d stop at the feed store and pick me up once he was done.

I opened the door to the small garage and gently pulled the cover off my car. I could hardly believe she was mine. The car just looked aggressive, even sitting in the garage. I started up the car, a month before I should have been driving it alone, and carefully pulled out of the garage. I had to park, get out, shut the garage door in the rain, and get back in.

It gave me a moment to look at her in the light, even as fresh, light raindrops beaded up on her waxed body. I put the lap belt on, made sure the mirror was just right, and headed slowly down the driveway, lest I hit a big puddle and get the poor girl dirtier than I needed to. Once I was out of the driveway, I didn’t go much faster on the gravel.

Once I got to blacktop, it was a different story. I quickly ran through the gears and backed off at the speed limit. She just purred there at about 1300 RPM. There was so much left, this poor car must have thought she was now owned by a grandmother. But being under age, and fully afraid, I drove like I had blue hair. I found for the first time that a car this old had three speeds on the wipers, and none were great for this light rain.

I cruised past the school, now contemplating how I would be able to drive to class every day, leaving the bus rides behind. That was bittersweet, because it would sure save me some time, but I had a lot of fond memories of time spent with friends on the school bus.

I realized for the first time, I was driving this car by myself. I felt very mature, very grown up. It was a great feeling and I enjoyed it the rest of the ride.

A few minutes later, I rolled into Southwood, being careful to follow the speed limits as they went down closer to town. Southwood was a few houses larger than Northwood, but we had the nicer park and swimming pool. I took a quick peek at dad’s directions once again, taking Main Street off the highway, then back south on 6th Avenue. It should be the third place on the right, but all I saw were houses.

Well, the third one on the right did have a large garage in the backyard. I backed up several feet to look it over carefully. I could see a big garage with two double doors. One was open and I could see lights on inside. A small sign between the doors read “Fox Upholstery.”

This had to be the place. I rumbled the Mustang into the driveway and drove past the house to just in front of the garage.

What I saw inside had me questioning everything.

A girl, she had to be no older than 17, was working at a big metal device with four large paddles on it. She seemed to be laying out T-shirts on it, working each one and spinning the big thing around. But she wasn’t simply toiling away. Nope, she was moving and grooving. I couldn’t hear the radio, the car was still running, but she was dancing along to something.

I could see long, golden blonde hair pulled out the back of a red ball cap. She had a worn out black sweatshirt on, and a pair of red athletic shorts that may have been a season or two too old, very tight. She looked tall to me from the car, and her movements were graceful. She knew how to move and her body worked with her, not against her. I was intrigued, but I needed to know more.

I shut the car down and pulled the keys out, taking them with me. Even shutting the door didn’t catch her attention, and there was no music to be heard in the garage.

Then it dawned on me. She had headphones tucked over the front of the ball cap, and I could now see them.

I walked cautiously into the garage, watching her work from behind and I had a better vantage point to behold her. She was dancing rhymically, sliding something covered in ink over the T-shirts. She seemed to be looking closely at one of them. I still couldn’t see her face, but her body, so far, was the stuff of my dreams. She was a little taller than I typically liked, maybe just an inch shorter than me. Her legs were muscular, powerful even, and silky smooth. She had a small, round ass and a narrow waist. She wasn’t particularly tan, but her skin had a glow to it. Her golden blonde hair even reminded me of how Betsy’s hair looked before she chopped and dyed it.

“Hi,” I called out, trying to get her attention.

She didn’t seem to hear me, grinding her hips as she started to carefully pull a T-shirt off the strange device.

Then she froze, turned to look at me, and gave a short, sharp scream.

I froze in place and held my hands up at chest level, defensively, meaning no harm.

She covered her mouth in embarrassment, then pulled the headphones off her ears to rest around her neck.

“I’m so sorry! I didn’t hear you come in!”

“Sorry to scare you,” I said levelly. “I brought the Mustang.”

I jerked my thumb over my shoulder at the car, but I couldn’t form any other words. Her face was angelic, beatific, gorgeous, stunning, even with a slight smear of red ink on her left cheek. She had attention-grabbing green-blue eyes, high cheekbones and a pert little nose. She had a brilliant smile and a small chin that came to a narrow point, but wasn’t too sharp.

“Oh, you must be John then? I’m Jennifer,” she held out her hand in greeting. It was covered in fresh red ink.

I tilted my head as I looked at her proffered hand, but held mine out all the same. She sensed my hesitation and looked at her hand.

“OH! I’m sorry!” The flustered girl wiped her hand on her sweatshirt, giving me a moment to assess her front assets. Probably a B-cup at best, but set high and firm on her chest. I’d never seen this girl before. I’d never seen a girl like her before. I only hoped she was somewhere near my age.

“I’m Jake. John’s my dad. He ordered the work done on the car, uh, my car,” I said, a little flustered as well.

She took my hand in her warm hand and shook it firmly. Her mere touch was electric. She had, not rough, but well-used hands. I could tell she worked and likely played sports. I had a million questions and not a single charming way to ask them. Yet.

She looked over my shoulder at the car.

“Oh, wow, we get to work on that?” she practically cheered, a broad smile had never faded from her face since she got over her initial shock.

“Yeah, just the headliner, two seats and the carpet,” I joked.

“It’s handsome,” she blurted out. “I mean beautiful, it’s a beautiful car,” she looked anywhere other than my eyes suddenly.

“She,” I correct shyly. “I call her a she.”

Her eyes met mine again, shyly. “Well, SHE’s beautiful. Do you want to drive her inside?”

“Yeah, I’ll drive her in. Show me where you want her.”

The double entendres would have to wait, so I had to suppress a giggle at those. I hustled back to the car, started her up and slowly rumbled her inside the open garage door.

Jennifer guided me in, stopping me just short of the skeleton of a large couch.

I shut her down and pulled the keys, got out and handed them to Jennifer. She gratefully accepted them.

“She’s loud,” the pretty girl nodded, then ducked her head into the open door to peek inside.

“Yep, torn headliner. Cracks in the old seats and worn out carpet where your feet go,” she smiled. “We’ll have her good as new in a few days.”

“Yeah, about that,” I blushed a little. “When do you expect it to be done?”

“Mom’s out getting some supplies today, but she would know for sure. I can have her call you?”

“No, that’s OK,” I shrugged.

“I’m just glad you weren’t some serious older customer,” she said conspiratorially. “Mom would be mad if she saw me miss a customer because I had my Walkman up loud.”

She tapped herself under her sweatshirt where the Walkman was apparently attached to her shorts.

“What were you listening to?” I grinned.

“Oh, just an old Janet Jackson tape. Work goes by faster when I have music. I like to have these when I run too.”

“You run track?”

“No, just part of training,” she admitted, then counted off on her fingers. “Softball, volleyball and basketball.”

“And dance, clearly,” I teased.

“Not organized dance,” she giggled as her cheeks turned red.

“What about you?” she changed the subject. “You’re not off to college already, right?”

“Nope, I’m going to be a sophomore here at County West. I’ve never seen you before though?”

“We just moved here,” she admitted. “I’m going to be a sophomore here too,” she said, almost delightedly. “You must play sports,” she asked, almost insistently.

“Baseball and football,” I shrugged. “I live on a farm, so I was only allowed two sports.”

“I’m playing my last sport for East,” she said a little wistfully. “I’m making some T-shirts for my softball teammates as a goodbye present.”

She looked a touch morose at the thought. I wasn’t sure exactly what to say, but I wanted to reassure her.

“You’re going to love it here,” I said thoughtfully. “You’ll fit right in playing all those sports.”

“You think so?” she asked with genuine concern. “I haven’t met very many people yet, and besides, boys seem to like cheerleaders more than girl athletes.”

For the first time that morning, the realization that I had a girlfriend crossed my mind. It honestly hadn’t since I had first laid eyes on this girl. The entire night with Stacey and Molly, only Deedee was on my mind. I would have taken a hand hold and a peck on the cheek with Deedee over anything with Stacey or Molly, but now? Now I wasn’t so sure.

“Well, you know Jake Parker now,” I smiled. “I like athletes just fine, and I could show you around when school starts?”

“That would be great,” she beamed back at me. “I kind of wished I could graduate at my old school, but dad got a new job and mom has a business she can run about anywhere, she says. So here we are.”

“I see,” I nodded, turning my toe in the shop floor. “So, you’re all ours after softball ends?”

“Yep, got a lot of red and black to turn into shop rags.”

“Well, don’t wear your new County West stuff out here on, this, thing?” I teased, pointing at the T-shirt printing contraption.

She put her hands on her shapely hips. “This is my old screen printer. I bought it at an auction, and it’s paid for itself like 20 times over. I make T-shirts all the time.”

“Cool,” I said, looking at the device with interest.

She deftly took me through the finer points of how the thing worked just as dad walked up to the garage.

“Oh, hi, can I help you?” Jennifer asked politely.

“Looks like I’ve been helped already,” dad smiled.

“This is my ride,” I said, pointing at dad.

“Let me make sure I have everything ready before you go,” Jennifer piped up, then scurried over to a tall desk to rifle through some paperwork.

“Here it is!” she chirped, then set my keys on top of the stapled form. “I’ll have mom call you if you need to know when it will be done?”

“It’s OK, I can’t drive her a lot without my full license,” I waved her off.

“Ah, me too,” she blushed. “Next March for me.”

“Well, keep making all these T-shirts and you’ll be able to afford a Ferrari,” I joked.

“Do they come in blue like your car?” she giggled.

“I don’t think so,” I shrugged.

Dad was watching and grinning and it was getting awkward.

“Well, um, it was nice meeting you, and I’ll see you when school starts.”

“Won’t you be picking up the car when it’s ready?”

I blushed at that oversight. “I better do that.”

“I wouldn’t mind if you forgot her here,” Jennifer smiled.

“I bet you wouldn’t,” I gave her lopsided grin. “No taking her out like ‘Ferris Bueller’s Day Off,’ OK?”

“I promise,” she giggled.

“OK,” I grinned. “See you when it’s done.”

“I’ll call, or um, we’ll call,” she blushed.

“Well, she seemed very nice.” dad grinned from the driver’s side of his pickup, not bothering to look at me as we traveled back north.

“Yep,” I said flatly, giving away nothing.

“They’re a nice family. I picked them to do the work on the car to help ‘em out a little.”

“How do you know them?” I asked, but should have known better. Dad knew of almost everyone in our school district.

“Greg Groten’s brother lives across the street. Said they just moved here and do this kind of work, and do a nice job,” he said, telling me everything I needed to know. “The husband has a job in the city, he does the commute.”

“She just happens to be a sophomore,” I added.

“Is she now?” dad teased. “What a coincidence.”

He didn’t look at me, but grinned from behind the steering wheel.

“Dad?” I asked accusingly. “Was that a setup?”

“Nooooo,” he grinned for effect. “You don’t need any help in that area, do you?”

I sat in the truck with my jaw hanging slack. My own father had just orchestrated me meeting a very pretty girl.

“You?” I said in confusion. “You’re pretty awesome,” I admitted.

Dad just grinned contentedly from the driver’s seat.

We had timed things out fairly well. Dad dropped me off with Betsy next.

She looked as gorgeous as ever, but her spell was a little less powerful over me. I had thoughts of another girl, one a little taller and more athletic. The sport model.

“Earth to Jake?” Betsy admonished. “Where is your head today?”

“Um, sorry,” I admitted. “Where were we again?”

“Algebra,” she griped. “We’re not going to get a test done today if you don’t concentrate.”

“I’m sorry. I’ll get it together,” I grinned.

“Sorry to bust on you. It’s just that we have a few extra chapters to get through before the first week of July. I’ll be gone that week on a vacation.”

“You’re going to miss my birthday?” I added with fake dejection.

“Uh, yeah,” she smiled. “You’ll have to celebrate that one on your own.”

“So, you going anywhere fun?”

“Chicago,” she admitted. “Getting together with some girlfriends. Going to a Cubs game. See the sights.”

“We usually go to a Cubs game every August. At least as soon as dad sells the cattle off.”

“See,” she intoned. “Another lost week we have to make up for. Let’s get back to it.”

My gorgeous taskmaster, or taskmistress, had me back on track in no time.

“STRIIIIIIIIKE!”

I had just watched strike three go by me. It wasn’t a strike by any measure, but it was called that way all the same.

We were in Oak Lake, a resort town about as far as we would generally travel for a district baseball game. It was close to an hour away, but a lot of people made this drive from time to time for recreation. The lake here was lovely. The JV baseball team was not. The distance meant both of my parents couldn’t make it to the game in time to see any of it, so they stayed home.

I had just stranded Mitch to end the inning. He had managed to steal second while I watched strike two nearly hit the pebbles. I wasn’t even that mad when I struck out, because I should have known better.

I got into my catcher’s gear as quickly as I could and got into my crouch to warm Mitch up, taking a fastball square down the chute.

“Balls in,” the ump said passively to me after that single pitch.

“I just got out here?” I said in confusion.

“You should have gotten out here faster,” the gray-bearded man said dismissively.

I pulled my mask back off and pointed to my chest. “I just batted.”

“I don’t care,” the ump said with half a sneer.

Well, this was going to be fun. Their batter stepped in and I rocked into my crouch and just let Mitch throw whatever he wanted here.

Mitch stepped and delivered. The batter about swung out of his shoes and I mitted it with a sharp crack.

I flicked it back to Mitch, knowing he might try the slider after that massive miss. It was a warm day, but this batter threatened to cool me off with his whiffs.

Mitch rocked back and delivered again. The batter, their leadoff man mind you, somehow swung under the slider and managed to foul it off. That was a first I’d seen that season. ‘Did this batter have his eyes open?’

I flicked the ball back to Mitch and just nodded at him. We both knew a fastball was the way to go here. Mitch set up and delivered a scorcher right down the pipe that I mitted with another sharp crack.

We heard nothing. The ump said nothing.

“Count, Blue?”

“One and two,” he said dismissively.

I stood and looked at him silently for a moment before turning and tossing the ball back to Mitch.

I got back into my crouch and pointed a finger straight down insistently.

Mitch rocked and fired another heater, slightly higher up in the zone and right in front of my mask. It slammed into my mitt with a pop, with motes of dust dislodging from the leather.

Silence again.

“Count, Blue?”

Two and two,” he said loudly.

Murmurings and gasps could be heard from our side of the stands. This guy was clueless, or had a grudge.

Regardless, we needed to get around this batter. I threw the ball back to Mitch and watched the batter step in. He didn’t seem to set his feet like he was going to swing.

I dipped my fingers down and pointed left. Mitch nodded and fired. The pitch came in a little high, but tantalizingly slower. The batter seemed tempted late, but checked his swing. Still, the ball sailed through the zone, and I mitted it at my knees.

I tossed the ball back to Mitch.

“Full count!”

I had decided I didn’t like this umpire very much at all, but there wasn’t much I could do.

I got into my crouch and pointed straight down with enthusiasm. No way he could let another easy strike go uncalled.

Mitch fired it fast and true, right down the pipe. The batter never so much as flinched.

“Take your base!”

Now our crowd was getting on this guy. There may have been 20 adults there, and they started sounding like 100.

The next batter stepped in, and we went through the same thing. The ump did call one strike, and I thought I might pass out from the shock, but he gave that batter a free trip to first base on a perfect strike as well. Coach Don, who rarely got off the bench while we were on defense, was at the edge of the cage and he was getting chatty. The atmosphere was getting electric.

Mitch was about to come unglued. I called time and walked out to him and covered my mask with my mitt.

“If we get to three and oh, drill the batter.”

Mitch looked at me quizzically.

“I don’t think we can do anything about this ump, but if they aren’t going to swing, they’re going to earn their trip to first”

He nodded in understanding. My plan was to get them swinging one way or the other.

I jogged back to the plate and got into my crouch. The batter stepped in, practically leaving the bat on his shoulder.

Our crowd had quieted down. Coach Don was watching very closely.

I pointed a finger straight down. Mitch nodded, even at our prearranged agreement, and fired.

It was low in the zone, and the ump was silent.

I fired it back to Mitch from my knees, and then got back up into my crouch.

I signaled for a slider, just to see what he would do. The pitch came in high and dropped low. The batter turned his shoulder a bit and then backed off. I tossed the ball back to Mitch.

Our crowd was calling for blood.

We were at 2-0 already. Neither runner seemed interested in stealing. And why would they? Looked like another walk was on the way.

Mitch seemed on board, and he fired the next pitch well outside, but I gloved it and stared down the runner at second. I flicked the ball back to Mitch.

I got into my crouch and waited. Mitch rocked back and fired a very hard fastball that slammed right into the left bicep of the batter.

He doubled over in pain, wincing and holding his left arm.

“Take your base,” the ump drawled.

He was going to have a hell of a bruise, and jogged gingerly to first.

The bases were loaded and I had a chance to say something quietly to the batter walking to the plate.

“Swing or wear it.”

He paused for a second, looking at me blankly.

“Swing or wear it. No one else is getting to first for free.”

Mitch wound up and delivered a nice strike that the batter took a hard look at.

“STRIIIKE!”

‘Wow!’ I thought. ‘Did we just get a call?”

I fired back to Mitch and felt a little better in my crouch.

Mitch leaned his right foot into the rubber and fired another pitch.

It was a little inside on the batter, and he bailed out of the box.

I stood, gave a chuckle and tossed the ball back to Mitch. Things weren’t going our way, but this might end up being funny.

At 1 and 1, I crouched down and gave Mitch the left hook with my index finger. He nodded, rocked and fired.

It started high in the zone, then the bottom fell out of it. I dropped to my knees for the block, and while the batter did give a mighty grunt and swing at it, he missed entirely. Unfortunately, I did too.

It squirted between my knees and bounced to the backstop. I was up in an instance, tore off my mask and rushed to the chain link backstop to grab it.